


After

by there_must_be_a_lock



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Dom/sub, M/M, Sub Dean Winchester, Subdrop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:28:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21995245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/there_must_be_a_lock/pseuds/there_must_be_a_lock
Summary: Dean feels overheated and sick, the buzz of pain fading into the nasty exhaustion that comes after. Everything is going slow and hazy. He feels like he’s underwater.“You don’t want me to heal you?” Cas asks hoarsely.Dean shakes his head.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 5
Kudos: 143





	After

Usually, when he’s with Sammy, Dean just sneaks back in late. Dean blames any stiffness in his movements, any visible bruises, on the hunt. Sam’s never noticed anything unusual. 

Sam’s not with him tonight, though. It’s somewhere around three in the morning when Dean pulls back up to the motel. He sees the light shining through the blinds, and his stomach drops. 

He still feels shaky and strung-out; he’s not ready to handle questions right now. It’s hard to lie to Cas even when he’s not feeling like this, like he’s a little bit broken, like she split him open with that whip and he’s still trying to piece himself back together. 

For a moment, Dean considers sleeping in the car, but his back hurts too much for that. He needs to patch himself up. He needs to lie face-down on a bed even if he can’t sleep (he usually can’t) and ride this out until morning. The end of the night is always lonely, but Dean’s used to that. Worth it, to feel a little more settled in his skin. 

Dean takes a deep breath, and makes himself go inside. 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, from his cross-legged perch on one of the beds. He’s watching a movie, something old in black and white, and he barely spares Dean a glance. 

“Hey.” 

Cas looks at him immediately, like he somehow heard alarm bells in that one fucking word.

“Are you alright?” he asks. 

“Fine.” 

Cas is examining him with those bright eyes. Dean balls his hands into fists to try to keep them from shaking. He heads for his bag instead, rummaging to find a fresh shirt. 

Fucking _angels_. Cas must’ve blinked over to him, because he doesn’t make a sound, but suddenly he’s standing just behind Dean. 

“You’re hurt,” he says. He rests a hand on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean can’t help but flinch away. He squeezes his eyes shut, hangs his head, and tries to breathe normally. 

“It’s nothing, Cas.” 

“You’re lying,” Cas says flatly. “Here, let me heal you.“ 

“No,” Dean snaps. “Don’t.” 

He turns, and makes the mistake of meeting Cas’s eyes. He doesn’t want to see the concern there. It makes him feel even more raw, more vulnerable, and he can’t stand it right now. Cas is standing too close, the way he always fucking does, and it drives Dean crazy; there’s nowhere else to look, he can’t seem to escape those too-blue eyes, and he can’t handle this right now.

Cas is putting the pieces together. His eyebrows are knitted together tightly and his mouth is a startling shade of pink, and Dean… Dean’s staring, too out of it to stop himself. 

“Who did that?” Cas asks, and there’s this rough catch of anger in his voice, of protectiveness, that Dean cringes away from.

“Just… someone I met.” 

“Why-” 

“I asked her to, Cas. Okay? I asked.” 

Cas blinks slowly, once and then twice, and he lets out a sharp little exhale. 

“Ah,” he says softly. “I see.” 

Dean feels overheated and sick, the buzz of pain fading into the nasty exhaustion that comes after. Everything is going slow and hazy. He feels like he’s underwater. 

“You don’t want me to heal you?” Cas asks hoarsely. 

Dean shakes his head. 

“Let me at least clean you up.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, with an embarrassing crack in his voice. “Yeah, that’d be good.” 

He sits in the desk chair and strips off his shirt, hissing at the sting, and he hears Cas make a low, shocked noise, and he closes his eyes because they’re stinging too, for some fucking reason. 

“First aid’s on the table,” Dean mumbles. He waits. 

Cas’s fingers are so cool when they brush the heated lines that criss-cross his back. 

“Are you _sure_ you don’t want me to heal these?” Cas says, soft and husky, and goosebumps cascade down the back of Dean’s neck. 

“I like it,” he admits gruffly. “It, um. It helps. Keeps me a little… calmer.” 

“I see.” Cas pauses, and Dean chokes off his cry of pain as the alcohol swab makes contact. “What are these from?” 

“Whip,” Dean mutters. 

“And she didn’t clean them, after?” Cas says. His voice is so very level and calm, but Dean can hear rage simmering under the surface. 

“No.” 

“Did she -” 

“Cas,” Dean says thickly. “Please. Please don’t. I just wanted to get out of there. She didn’t do anything wrong, it was me.” 

He doesn’t know how to explain; he knows he should’ve stayed. She offered to fix him up, asked him to stay the night, brought him water, did all the things you’re supposed to do, and Dean… Dean couldn’t bear it. 

It’s hard enough asking for what he wants. _Hurt me, hit me, please_ , on his knees and finally honest. It’s good, and he needs it, but he hates the asking. 

Most of the time, he can’t admit what he needs, afterward, not even to himself. He hates the way they look at him, when he says _no, don’t, just stay, just hold me._

“Sometimes you need to let people take care of you,” Cas says. 

“So I’ve been told,” Dean whispers, looking down at his hands, twisting them in his lap, biting his lip to hold back all the things he wants to say. 

“Have you ever considered…” Cas trails off. 

“What?” 

“Doing this with… someone you trust. Someone who cares about you.” 

Dean draws a long, shaky breath. 

“Aren’t that many people I trust,” he says softly. 

Cas smooths a gauze pad down his back and secures it carefully. The silence stretches, broken only by the little _zip_ noise of ripping tape. 

Dean squeezes his eyes shut and tries to breathe, but his chest feels tight and panicky. They’ve been skirting this for too long. He knows they’ll have to talk about it eventually. He feels sick.

He doesn’t know how to explain it; he doesn’t know why he’s so scared, why this is more terrifying than any monster he’s ever faced, but somehow he knows that this thing between them isn’t something he’ll be able to just walk away from, at least not in one piece. He’s afraid it’ll rip him apart. 

“I can’t,” he snaps. “I _can’t_ , Cas. I just can’t.” 

“Okay,” Cas says simply. Dean feels this massive surge of relief, like twenty pounds off his shoulders. 

Cas passes him his shirt and Dean slips it on awkwardly, trying not to tug at the bandages. He rests his head in his hands, trying to stop it from spinning, and gulps in air like a drowning man. 

“Here.” 

There’s a glass of water on the table in front of him. Dean drinks it. 

“Good. You need to sleep now, Dean,” Cas says firmly. 

Dean blinks, and he’s obeying before he can think about it, dragging himself up and taking a few stumbling steps to the bed. He toes off his shoes and collapses face-first. 

Cas turns the light out. The TV is still on, casting flickering shadows on the wall, but it doesn’t bother Dean; he can barely keep his eyes open. He hears Cas moving around the room, and then Cas is putting a blanket over him, covering him carefully. 

A weight settles on the bed next to him and there are fingers in his hair, stroking slowly, rubbing circles in the nape of his neck. 

“You did good today,” comes that familiar gravelly voice, and Dean smiles into his pillow. 

“Thanks,” he manages. 

“Sleep,” Cas whispers. “I’ll be here.” 

Dean sleeps.


End file.
